


Invite

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hank goes drinking with a buddy.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94





	Invite

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Drinking with company is arguably worse, because Hank can see the judgment in Jeffrey’s eyes. Jeffrey knew him when he was up, so Jeffrey knows exactly how far he’s fallen down. Hank downs the glass anyway. It’s not like it was his idea to _hang out_. They’re not in college anymore. He would’ve been perfectly fine to never see Jeffrey outside of the office again and just whittle his life away on his own, eventually dying with no one to find his carcass but Sumo.

Jeffrey doesn’t even have anything good to say to him. They sit in their dingy booth, suspiciously quiet for the noisy bar, just dazedly not looking at one another, waiting for the other one to make the awkward first move. Hank swirls what’s left of his whiskey around his cup and chugs it back, only for the exhausted-looking waitress to toss another one on the table.

Hank blinks up at her. He’s already blown what little was left of his paycheck—he wasn’t actually going to drink himself under the table this time. He tells her, “I didn’t order another one.”

“The guy over there bought it for you.” She nods over her shoulder, then flitters off like she couldn’t care less. Hank doesn’t look where she gestured at first, because he’s too busy reeling over the idea that _anybody_ bought him _anything_. People didn’t even buy him drinks when he was young and decent-looking. Now he’s _old_ and decaying, unkempt and overweight, so there has to be some kind of mistake. He’s dead sure of it when he looks across the bar and sees the kid all alone at the smallest round table. 

“What the...” Jeffrey mutters, which mirrors Hank’s thoughts exactly. He’s not even mad at Jeffrey’s incredulity.

Hank grunts, “No way.”

Jeffrey tries to justify, “Must be into older guys. Or just has no taste at all.” Hank doesn’t laugh or acknowledge the joke. He’s just ogling his suitor.

The guy across the bar looks half Hank’s age and about ten times as cute. He’s _really_ cute. Silky brown hair perfectly frames his handsome face, one little tuft curled down against his forehead, his smooth peach skin dotted here and there with moles and freckles. His brown eyes seem to twinkle at Hank, his pink lips twisted up in a tentative smile. He’s even dressed nice—a crisp grey suit with a white button-up and black tie, the kind of too-put-together thing that looks like he’s just waiting for someone to come and mess it up. Hank could get behind that. He could handle ripping that tie right off and popping a few buttons open. 

Except it’s got to be a prank, because there’s no way a hottie like _that_ wants a man like Hank. Hank’s given up on life and made that abundantly clear in his appearance. The cute brunet looks like he has everything to live for. Then something catches his eye towards the washrooms, and he turns his pretty head just enough for Hank to see the spinning blue LED on his temple. 

“What the _fuck._ ”

When he finally manages to tear his eyes away, he looks at Jeffrey, who just shrugs. An android buying him a drink makes even less sense. Hank doesn’t even _like_ androids. He’s suddenly annoyed with himself for even thinking the brunet’s hot. 

Jeffrey asks, “You gonna...?”

Hank doesn’t take the drink. Yet. He’s buzzed enough to deal with the situation—he pulls out of his chair and wanders off before Jeffrey can talk some sense into him. The rest of the bar’s reasonably crowded with equally decrepit losers and better looking young people, neither of which so much as look at Hank when he passes. He’s invisible to everyone except the one android that somehow made it through the door. He must be a Traci with a nearby owner or something. Maybe his owner’s a mad scientist and he’s been sent to seduce unsuspecting old fools off to get their livers cut out. 

Hank’s no fool. He knows what he looks like and how batting leagues work. He marches right up to the android’s table and demands, “’The fuck is wrong with you?”

The android lifts one dark brow and justifies, “I asked her to serve you a second of your current drink. If you want a different choice, I’m sure the bartender can exchange it.”

Hank blinks. That’s not the problem. It takes him a second to recover and explain, “I meant why’d you buy me a drink at all.”

“Ah.” The android smoothly adjusts his position and explains, “I’m conducting research on human interactions. I’m a detective model and believe a deeper understanding of relationships would improve my work.”

Hank didn’t know there even _were_ detective models. It makes his skin crawl just to think about it, because that’s exactly what Reed’s been ranting about for months—all of them getting replaced. Hank didn’t think it would happen. Not the _real_ detectives. Intuition’s too important. Apparently, androids think they can learn that too. 

That doesn’t explain _why him_ , though. Hank presses, “And you picked _me_?”

“I believe we’re compatible.”

“Excuse me? I’ve never met you before in my life, you plastic prick!” He’s pretty sure he’d remember an attractive renegade android. 

The android easily corrects, “Connor.”

“What?”

“My name is Connor. I’m an RK800 model. Would you prefer to be called Mr. Anderson, Lieutenant Anderson, or simply Hank by a perspective partner?”

Hank _stares_. ‘Connor’ watches him right back. Sure, Hank’s had a few drinks, but he doesn’t remember telling anybody in the bar his name, much less his rank. When Hank doesn’t respond, Connor goes on, “I was able to scan your facial structure to access your official record, Lieutenant.” Apparently he’s made the decision himself, even though Hank would prefer just ‘Hank.’ But he doesn’t think an android could be _a perspective partner_ anyway. “I’ve ascertained that we have a similar profession, which may lead to similar interests. You’re an older man, which means you likely have valuable experience I could learn from. I also consider your facial hair an interesting proposition, as research indicates it offers a unique sensation during lovemaking. But most importantly, judging by the fine hairs on your coat, I believe you have a dog. I like dogs.”

He smiles slightly at that last part. He looks up at Hank with such open, obvious interest that Hank’s completely thrown for a loop. He didn’t think androids could like _anything_ , animals included. 

Again, Hank’s at a loss for words. Connor muses, “I would like to ask you to my place, Lieutenant, but as I have no house to take you home to, would it be amenable to you if we were to relocate to your place? I promise I won’t stay the night after we’ve made love.”

 _That_ finally kicks Hank into gear. He growls, “First of all, it’s not _making love_ , it’s _fucking_ —you don’t make love to an android or a one night stand.” 

Connor curtly corrects, “Very well, would you be amenable to fucking me?”

Hank really was going to say _no._ But he’s been staring at Connor’s soft lips too long, and what comes out is: “Second of all... goddamn it. Fine.” Jeffrey’s never going to let him live it down. He’s never going to forgive himself. But he also knows he couldn’t live with himself if he passed up this chance to know what Connor’s ass feels like. Maybe it’s just nice to be desired. Or maybe Connor’s prim, irritating attitude desperately needs some roughing up, and Hank’s the perfect man to shove a cock down his throat. 

Hank can feel the early interest already stirring in him and knows they better get home before the alcohol ruins his chances. He opens his mouth like there are rules to relay or more things to discuss, but there really isn’t. The whole thing’s absurd, and no amount of conversation can fix that. Connor somehow looks both like he has no idea what sex is and like he’d let Hank fuck him right over the sink in the dirty bathroom.

Shaking his head, Hank just moves for the exit. He looks back at Jeffrey with a faint shrug but doesn’t offer more than that, because there’s no good excuse. Jeffrey looks at him like he’s crazy. 

Connor follows way too eagerly behind him and keeps following him long after.


End file.
